Snowflake
by FullOfHunger
Summary: The Capitol can tear love away from just about anyone. It's just a reminder to how precious we don't realize love can be...


**Hey! You there! Thanks for reading!**

**~I do not own THG, or anything. Kinda obvious, since I'm posting this on FANfiction...**

**Just so you know, the main charrie is a girl. Yes, they're bot girls. I wanted them to be able to volunteer to save each other, so yeah, they're gay. I got someone to read it and that confused them for a couple of seconds, so I thought I'd let you avoid that. (If this bothers you, just don't read this. I don't want to be lectured in a review).**

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><p><em>From happiness...<em>

The snowflakes swirl and land in her hair and look beautiful. Her laugh rings out as she twirls contentedly. I grimace. However much I love her, the snow and the cold just... aren't my thing. But I'm happy that she is happy.

"Fine," I practically sing to her: she makes beckoning gestures. I know it will mean the world to her if I follow. So I sigh theatrically, and then put on a real smile. Step into the snow and gasp as the cold instantly seeps through old seams in my boots. I know in my heart, I never had a choice. I have to be with with her. I love her.

She runs over, jubilant. Hugging me, (which is very nice, her being so warm and all) and tugging me further into this amazing, harsh winter. Her face, level with mine, is flushed, and her lips are a perfect red. She sticks out her tounge to catch a snowflake and we both stare at it, mesmerized, until it melts. Then her tounge goes a little farther to lick my lips, which elicits a rare laugh from me. Her icy blue eyes twinkle as she turns away, scooping to pick up snow. Somehow, the snow ends up on my face. Ick. But wonderful all the same. Somehow. Somehow, I still manage to enjoy the winter. Somehow, she got me out here. She runs from me, a smile etched on her pretty face, distracting me from her hands as they shape another snowball. Following her example, I pick up my own handfull of powder while I beam back mischeviously. I believe it is time for revenge.

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><p><em>6 Months Later...<em>

I find it strange we have more fun in the season I hate most, but that is the twisted way of Panem. No one can enjoy the summer here; it is the season of the Games.

I roll over in the only bed to see her face next to mine, twisted in horror. But her eyes are closed - she is only having a nightmare. I save her from it by gently rubbing her back, calming her. I watch contentedly as her muscles loosen and the dream turns back into a good one. I can only geuss what she dreamed of, but I'm pretty sure my first geuss will be right: the Reaping. She always has nightmares before Reaping day. But this is our last, for we're both eighteen. After today we'll be free until they kill us some other way. Preferably together.

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><p><em>Hours later...<em>

The escort wears her costume with pride. She's actually got a very nice figure underneath the guck and frills, but I shouldn't... I've got a girfriend. A much kinder one, I might add.

The escort calls the boys first, oddly enough, and her lower voice comes as a suprise. But she still sports the Capitol accent. The blonde boy isn't someone I'm familiar with. I don't know many of the district's twelve year olds.

The crowd reacts badly to someone so young being reaped. I boo only after someone else does - the first boo-er always gets shot.

And then, when the escort calls the girls, I don't let my mind soar happily. I don't let out a sigh of releif or even grin slightly. Because the girl is her.

I love her too much to let her go. My tears show, big, wet and obvious, for the cameras, as I trudge dutifully to the stage. I am a volunteer. I am a tribute. I found love, but now my life is as good as over.

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><p><em>3 weeks later...<em>

Six kids died in the bloodbath. Two teens were hunted down by the career pack. Five careers died fighting amongst themselves for power in their alliance, after most of them were injured by sixth career was killed by Rufus, who went insane. In turn, he was drowned by the tidal wave that killed four other tributes.

After the wave, two young tributes fought each other to the death, and the winner, we assume, died of his wounds. The last one other tribute (besides us) died when he begged us for mercy. He would have done it himself, I think, but I doubt he had the strength to reach the knife on his belt. Martin killed him. I didn't watch.

Martin is my district partner. He's twelve, and a cute kid. He has a dog named Slasher, back in Twelve, and his sister has her first Reaping next year: he wants to be there for her. I want him to be there for her, too. It's just that I don't want to die.

The two of us, we've pretty much reached a stalemate. The whole games, we allowed ourselves to grow closer, believing someone else would kill one of us off. But that didn't happen.

I like to think of us as friends, despite the lack of things a no-longer-innocent 12-year-old boy has in common with an 18-year-old girl with a girlfriend.

We've decided we will let the Capitol choose. Mutts will kill him, maybe, or another wave will come and drown me. They might flood everything but the very top of this hill and wait to see who starves first. Or perhaps an earthquake will damage us both so badly that it won't matter which one of us the last cannon _technically_ fires for. But whatever it is they choose to do, we will sit here until we die. One of us, I mean.


End file.
